The Enemy
by wistfulmarauder
Summary: Tension is rising in the wizarding world and Hogwarts might just be at the core. As she grapples with the new stress upon her typically comfortable environment, Hermione Granger's world is flipped upside down when an assignment from Professor McGonagall leaves her spending her days with her enemy - Draco Malfoy.
1. The Dream

Hermione Granger jolted up in her bed with a start. As she awoke, she felt as though she were emerging from the water, pushing through the surface and coming up for air. Immediately, the feeling of dread weighed upon her consciousness. Her mop of dark brown curls clung against the damp nape of her neck and her clothes seemed to suffocate her, scratching against her skin. The memory of the dream poisoned her thoughts and a familiar nausea ebbed upon her.

Some people believed that dreams were a reflection of your innermost thoughts and your deepest desires. In the Muggle worlds, scholars had conducted innumerable studies on the very subject, using science or unreliable whims to produce theories and speculations. But after having the same insufferable dream for the fifth night in a row, Hermione could say with the utmost certainty that the whole ordeal was a load of bollocks.

Her mind was racing. For perhaps the first time in her nearly 17 years, she couldn't think straight. She always felt a bit dishevelled when she awoke from the dream, but this morning was the worst reaction she had yet.

All she could think of was the long stretched out corridor with its eerie cloak of darkness and foreboding, the single shimmer of light at the end. The shadow-concealed figure that awaited her in that illumination. The silhouette of their body that seemed dangerous and yet so safe all at once. But what haunted her the most was the voice, when the figure called out her name. It was utterly unrecognizable to her, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had heard it before.

Around her, her roommates were getting ready for class as if nothing spectacular had happened, slipping back into their old and easy routine in the past few weeks since returning to Hogwarts. Next year would be their final year of school but graduation did not seem to be any pressing concern on anyone's minds these days. No one was able to fully focus on their studies, not even Hermione. Everyone was wholly preoccupied with the looming threat upon the wizarding world, the danger that seemed to lurk behind each new dawn. All they could do was wait and go on with their lives as if it were any ordinary year.

Reaching over to her bedside table, Hermione fumbled for her wristwatch and blinked a few times before her eyes registered the number. 7 o'clock. There was just under an hour left until breakfast was over in the Great Hall. Afterwards, she would have to rush off to Arithmancy, her first class of the day. With a small grunt, she peeled back the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, letting her feet dangle a few inches off the ground as she stretched out her limbs.

"Good morning, Hermione," Parvati Patil, Hermione's roommate said politely. Parvati pulled the covers taut on her own bed a few feet away, placing her pillow at the head. She glanced at the curly-haired witch and her pleasant expression clouded over with concern. "Are you feeling alright? You don't look well."

"Er, well, yes. Yes, I'm completely fine," Hermione stammered nervously. Cheeks pink as though she was a child who had been caught being naughty, Hermione brought herself to her feet and padded over to her chest of clothes. As she lifted the lid and began to dig for her school clothes, she cleared her throat and smiled brightly — a little _too _brightly — at Parvati. "I'm sorry. How are you?"

Parvati blinked. "Oh. I'm well. Thanks."

Hermione only nodded in response. Holding in her breath, she ducked her head into the chest and exhaled quietly into the dark container. Even if Parvati wasn't as weirded out as she seemed, Hermione was sure that she had been stirring suspicion ever since term commenced. Each morning that she woke from the dream, she was a mess — fumbling over her words, overanalyzing everything anyone said, staring into empty space.

Her roommates must have noticed the change in her behaviour. Hell, she'd had the dream five nights in a row. Professor Dumbledore probably noticed by now.

_Pull yourself together, _Hermione silently scolded herself. _It was just a dream._

Determined to move past her nocturnal oddity, Hermione pushed all subconscious-related notions out of her mind and resolved to fill the space with academic thoughts instead. She yanked a white blouse and plaid skirt from the trunk and hugged them tight to her chest as she headed to wash up. The whole way along, she mentally repeated her new mantra to herself: _It was only a dream._

Twenty minutes past the hour, Hermione entered the Great Hall in her uniform and robes, a pile of pristine hardcover books tucked under her arm. She stood at the entrance of the hall, scanning the room with squinted eyes, searching the sea of students for her friends. Breakfast would be over in half an hour and the room was beginning to empty out, students swarming the aisles between house tables, which obstructed Hermione's view almost entirely. She knew that the only students who would be left at each table would be the upper years. The younger students would already be scurrying off to class, as they were wont to do.

As she lingered in the entrance, Hermione couldn't help but notice a strange feeling sitting heavy in her stomach. It was as though something — or someone — was lingering just behind her ear. A terrible foreboding crept upon her. She shivered involuntarily, glancing over her shoulder, just in case. No one was there. This morning had been far too peculiar for her liking.

"Hermione!" The voice drew Hermione from her thoughts, back to reality. She glanced across the room to find Ginny Weasley half-standing at the Gryffindor table, near the front of the hall, with one leg tucked beneath the table and the other propped up on the wooden bench. The redhead was waving her arms frantically above her head, a wide toothy grin on her lips.

Grateful to see a friendly face, Hermione scurried over. She carefully placed her books down on the tabletop and plopped down beside Ginny. "Hey," she said, aware that she sounded out of breath. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, her best friends since first year, sat on the opposite side of the table. They both mumbled their greetings to her around mouthfuls of food. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see Ginny staring at her.

"You alright?" Ginny asked, gently nudging her friend with her elbow.

"Huh?" Hermione placed a napkin on her lap and frowned at Ginny, feigning innocence. "Of course I'm fine. Why is everyone asking me that today?"

"I don't know. Your face looks weird."

"Thanks for that, Ginny."

"You know what I mean."

Hermione did know what she meant. She could feel the permanent flush in her cheeks and the purplish, sleepless tint under her eyes. Instead of explaining everything, she did as she had done since the dreams had started — shrugged and ignored the concern in her friend's eyes. There was enough to worry about these days that she didn't need to add another reason to the list. Forcing her voice to sound as normal as possible, Hermione asked her friends what they had been talking about before she arrived and reached for a piece of toast from the platter before her.

Ron swallowed a mouthful of eggs and pointed his fork at Harry. "This one is going on about that damned Malfoy again."

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed. "Malfoy? Again?"

"There's something going on, Hermione," Harry insisted in a hushed tone. He dropped his own fork on his plate. "After Borgin and Burkes, what we _saw_… Well, I think it's pretty much evident what's going on, don't you agree?"

"No. Absolutely not." Hermione shook her head. "Harry, you cannot be serious."

"I am." A couple of Ravenclaw students scampered by, chatting loudly about their summer holidays. Harry watched them cautiously, waiting for them to pass completely before continuing. "It's obvious that Malfoy has been recruited as a Death Eater. Plain and simple."

Ron rolled his eyes. "He's been at it all morning. Someone has had a spoonful too many of paranoia in their coffee in this morning."

"Think about it. He's directly associated with the Death Eaters through his father who, if you didn't notice, is currently in Azkaban. Malfoy could be filling in for his father's absence."

Hermione sighed. "There is nothing to suggest that's true."

"There's nothing to suggest otherwise, Hermione. I don't see how I'm expected to just go on doing nothing about this. Not after what the Death Eaters did in the Department of Mysteries!" Harry's voice raised a bit, causing a couple of students at the Hufflepuff table to glance over curiously. Hermione's heart panged sorrowfully. She could only imagine the hell her friend had been going through these last few months. Sometimes she forgot how much Harry had lost. Finally, Harry cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "Besides, we practically have firsthand evidence."

"Firsthand evidence?" Hermione repeated. "Harry, we didn't _see_ anything. At least not anything that could prove what you're accusing him of."

"Come on, Hermione. I thought you of all people would be most rational about this." Harry smiled sheepishly as Ginny shot him a dirty look. "No offence. But we can all admit that Hermione's the smartest out of any of us. Plus, she hates Malfoy more than anyone."

"Alright. Explain this to me, Harry. What do you suppose we do to confirm this suspicion of yours?" Ron interjected. "Sneak into the Slytherin dormitory at night and take a peek at Malfoy's forearm? Be realistic. Malfoy's a git, I will grant you that. But a Death Eater? No way. You can't be recruited when you and mummy are still attached by the umbilical cord."

Harry's eyebrow shot up. "Not hard if she's already involved."

Ron groaned loudly. "Oh, for the love of Merlin!"

Suddenly, Hermione felt that strange feeling over her shoulder again. She squirmed nervously, carefully glancing back only to have her suspicion debunked again. Something about their conversation felt unsafe. "We shouldn't get into this right now. Not here. Anyone could overhear."

All at once, as if on cue, her friends turned to stare at her. Hermione's skin crawled. She knew that she was acting insane, but she couldn't stop herself. Every word that came from her mouth was one step closer to her being declared absolutely balmy. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop the paranoia from consuming her. She felt like the eyes of everyone in the room were on her, watching her every move. She had to get out of the Great Hall. Immediately.

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Hermione insisted. "I'm perfectly fine. Do you know what though? I've just remembered that I have to return a book to the library before class. I ought to head off."

"What? There are still 15 minutes until class starts," Ron pointed out as Hermione started to collect her books. With furrowed eyebrows, he pointed down to her plate which still held half of the piece of toast she had chosen for breakfast. "You hardly ate."

Hermione grabbed the remaining bit of toast and grinned. "It's a portable breakfast, Ronald. See?" She took a bite out of the bread to prove her point. "Mmm. Delicious. It's very en vogue in London right now. I'll see you guys later."

As she turned on her heel, Hermione awkwardly waved goodbye with the arm that was holding her books. Before anyone could respond, she scurried down the aisle towards the exit. Before she was fully out of earshot, she could hear Ron ask Harry, "Did you understand any of that?"

Emerging into the corridor, Hermione allowed herself a moment to relax, unclenching her jaw, letting her shoulders fall. She exhaled loudly, pressing her palm to her forehead. Pretending to be herself was becoming exhausting. As much as she loved her friends, she wished that she could just be alone. At least until she was able to figure out how to get her life back.

Making a sharp turn around the corner, she suddenly slammed into a wall at full force. "Ugh!" Her books tumbled out of her arms, hitting the floor with an audible thud, and her toast followed suit, spraying crumbs all over the ground. She rubbed her shoulder and, to her horror, glanced up to see that it was no wall that she had walked into.

"For fuck's sake, Granger," Draco Malfoy huffed. He ran his fingers through his white-blond hair and glared down at her with his cold grey eyes. "Walk much?"

_Could this day get any worse? _Hermione leaned down to retrieve her belongings and frowned. "Well, there goes breakfast."

"What are you mumbling about?" Draco snapped. "Breakfast? You've just pummelled into me and that's all you have to say for yourself?"

Hermione pushed a strand of hair behind her ear so that she could look up at Draco. "First of all, I rounded a corner, Malfoy. It was hardly premeditated. Secondly, it's _my _things that are currently decorating the floor, not yours. And third of all, you walked into me just as much as I walked into you. So claim some of the responsibility, why don't you?"

She began to pile up her books and when she fumbled with them, she prayed that the ground would open up and swallow her whole. She couldn't help but be nervous. Draco made her uncomfortable. He had been the sole provider of her misery and shame for the past six years and that sort of thing did a certain amount of damage to a person. Especially now, when he looked more manly than boyish. He had grown significantly over the summer, now towering over six-feet. He loomed over her with a newfound superiority that superseded his inherent arrogance.

Draco barely listened to her lecture. Instead, he just scowled down at her. "Fuck, you're clumsy. Must be that Muggle blood of yours."

Hermione had every dig at her parentage that he could possibly invent to throw at her over the years. Some hurt more than others. But mostly, she was growing tired of hearing it. She brought herself to her feet, clutching her books to her chest. "Seems you haven't got any books to drop, Malfoy. Go to class, much?"

As soon as the words left her lips, she regretted speaking them.

Draco blinked. "Nice one," he mocked.

"Yeah, well, I'm tired today. Come back tomorrow and I'll try to come up with a more creative retort for you," she sighed.

Finally disinterested, Draco sneered at her and stalked off in the opposite direction, casually adjusting his uniform as he went on his way. Once he was gone around the corner, Hermione groaned aloud. What an idiot she had been. Aside from the constant magical battles against Dark Lords that she had found herself a part of these past few years, she had found her years at Hogwarts to be a breeze. She loved a good academic challenge and that was exactly what the school provided her with. But it was the activities outside of the classroom that she found the most arduous. With the added burden of her new obsession with her REM cycle, her school life had become far more exhausting. Having a showdown with Draco Malfoy in the corridors was just adding insult to injury at this point.

She couldn't imagine how anyone in this world could find his presence to be even remotely appealing. Of course, he did have his two vacuous sycophants who followed his every waking movement. But Hermione couldn't fathom anyone willing spending any time with him for their own personal enjoyment, and not for the prestige that came with a friendship with a highly ranked pureblood. Then again, there was Pansy Parkinson, wasn't there? Everyone knew that Pansy and Malfoy had become somewhat of an item in the past couple years — though God only knew why. Hermione supposed Draco had found a bit of a match there. The two were perfect for each other in that they were both entirely insufferable.

As she dragged her feet through the crowded corridors, aimlessly wasting time before class, Hermione prayed that she wouldn't run into Draco again. At least not until her dreams had stopped and her life had gone back to normal. She couldn't go toe-to-toe with a snake at her regular brain capacity. She would just have to actively avoid him until the dust settled. Then she would show him just who he was dealing with. They didn't call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing.

Her hands shook the whole way to Arithmancy.

_It was just a dream. _

_It was just a dream._


	2. The Task

Draco Malfoy had always hated Snape's office.

It was bad enough that he was forced to spend the majority of his life cooped up in the bloody dungeons of a medieval castle. He already felt like a prisoner, to begin with. But to spend any amount of time in Snape's office was a death sentence to his long-served jail time.

The office reminded Draco of death in itself. The room was dimly lit and musty, which only drew more attention to the fact that they were sitting in the most bottom pit of the ground. The bookcases, which covered every inch of the walls, were jam-packed with books possessing strange titles and various jars filled with Merlin knew what. A layer of decades-old dust had accumulated over the shelves and the small particles shifted whenever someone moved. On many occasions, Draco had suggested that Snape might find a new location for his office to be rejuvenating, perhaps someplace with a window or where there wasn't a permanent smell of decaying corpse - which Draco was quite certain was coming from Snape himself. Even a makeover to his current arrangement would be an improvement. But Snape, always the Grim Reaper, would simply grunt his disapproval at the recommendations.

When he tried to hire Snape a Cleaning Witch last year, he was met with a month's worth of detention. All for trying to help. What a lesson to teach students - don't help your professors, you'll be punished for it.

The office was weird as shit. That was the plainest way to put it. And Draco was starting to realize that maybe Snape just liked it like that. Weird bloke, weird office. It suited him, in a way.

The minute that Snape had shown up at Draco's Transfiguration lesson that afternoon, Draco had known why he was there. A horrible feeling had grown instantly in the pit of his stomach, especially once Snape had asked to meet with Draco in his office after class. The anxiety came not only from the prospect of spending time in that creepy office of his but also from the fact that Draco knew full well what Snape wanted to discuss at this particular meeting.

In his office, Snape loomed behind his desk, resting his clasped hands on his stomach as if that were a natural stance to take. He peered at Draco with his dark, narrowed eyes. His greasy, black shoulder-length hair hung before his face, adding a particularly unfortunate contrast to his translucent skin.

Draco, in turn, shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

Draco was used to authoritarianism by now. He had been raised in a household with Lucius Malfoy as the patriarch, for Merlin's sake. You don't get through sixteen years with Lucius without growing a relatively thick skin. But Snape was different. At Hogwarts, he was the closest link between Draco's normal life and Voldemort himself. The thought alone made Draco's stomach churn.

Things were getting worse lately. There was a tension in the air that wasn't there before; Draco could feel it wherever he went.

A war was brewing. One that he reckoned he would be at the heart of.

"What is it that you've called me here for, Professor?" Draco snarled as he leaned back in his chair. He flashed Snape a wicked grin. "You know how much I adore our little chats. Truly, I do. It's just that I find my time would be spent most effectively in my classes, don't you agree?"

Letting his arms fall to his sides, Snape stood tall and tilted his chin to the sky ever so slightly, reminding Draco of the power he held over him. The professor turned on his heels, beginning to pace the room. "As you have been made aware, your mother has enlisted my help in protecting you this year as you work towards completing the Dark Lord's task."

The words sent a chill down Draco's spine. _The Dark Lord's task. _Draco marvelled at Snape's ability to make such a daunting thing sound like a children's game or part of a scavenger hunt. Breezy and simple. In fact, the very thought of the task was something that Draco had been trying to erase from his mind for the past few weeks. His attempts, unfortunately, had been futile. It sat looming over him like the Sword of Damocles.

He would be the one to murder Albus Dumbledore in cold blood. Whether he liked it or not.

"In order for me to be successful in aiding you in your endeavours," Snape continued. "I must be made aware of your plan."

Draco blinked. "My... plan?"

"Yes," Snape replied, impatiently. "You cannot possibly have believed that this would have been an easy assignment. There must be careful planning in order for this to be carried out effectively."

Draco dropped his head and stared down at his hands, which were clasped in his lap. Of course, he had thought about it a lot. When he was first told that he was chosen as the would-be assassin that past summer, it was all that he was able to think about. Day and night, it poisoned his every thought. But frankly, he hadn't really anticipated he would need a plan.

It wasn't that he had assumed he could just waltz up into the old bastard's office and _Avada Kedavra _him right then and there. It was just that, up until this point, he had been hoping the whole thing would have sorted itself out. The man was well over a hundred years old, wasn't he? Time had to be catching up to him by now. Perhaps Dumbledore would do Draco favour and keel over. Make his way to the great beyond on his own terms. No harm, no foul.

Snape, evidently, had a very different idea about how it would all play itself out.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, sternly. His voice drew out Draco's surname into several syllables. He pressed his palms down flat against the old wooden desk and leaned forward so that he was only inches away from Draco. The professor's thin, purplish lips turned down into a scowl. "You will speak when spoken to."

"Fuck. Alright, you got me. I haven't got a plan." Draco ran a hand through his hair - his new favourite nervous habit - and exhaled loudly. "But it's fine. I'll figure something out. And obviously, I won't be needing your help with any of that. So you can just run along and... well, do whatever it is that you amuse yourself with on your free time."

Draco struggled to imagine Snape doing anything aside from teaching Potions and skulking around the castle in eternal misery.

Snape almost laughed. His lips turned up into a hollow smile, baring his teeth like a villain. His eyebrow cocked high up on his pasty white forehead. "You don't need my help?" he repeated. "You think that you're capable of executing one of the most high-profile assassinations in modern wizarding history all on your own? _You_? You're just a child. A spoiled, incompetent child."

Draco's blood boiled. The nerves that coursed through his veins were replaced with fury. His hands balled up into fists instinctively. "How dare you speak to me that way."

"The Dark Lord chose you to complete this task, Mr. Malfoy, for reasons that I have yet to understand -"

"Exactly," Draco interrupted loudly. He slammed his fist down on the desk. "That is _precisely _correct. Thank you. Yes, the Dark Lord did, in fact, choose me to kill Dumbledore. Not you. _Me_. I'm not quite sure who the fuck you think you are, but you clearly aren't aware of who I am. I am a Malfoy. I come from one of the most highly respected and dangerously powerful families not only in the wizarding community but in the eyes of the Dark Lord. I could crush you within a split second. Do you understand me?"

Feeling like he had won the upper hand, Draco leaned back into his chair and smugly crossed his arms over his chest. But Snape just stared at him incredulously.

"It bewilders me how you still think that your family name means anything."

Draco's stomach churned. The look in Snape's eyes had turned almost downright evil.

"Don't you understand? When your father was imprisoned, he brought unparalleled shame upon all Dark Wizards. Your father has single-handedly disgraced the Dark Lord with his failure and destroyed all the progress that He has accomplished. Your name has been tarnished. If you fail - rather, _when _you fail - you will be absolutely nothing."

Draco clenched his jaw, willing himself not to whip his wand out. "Fuck you," he hissed through his teeth. "You are a revolting, depressing old man. And you don't know shit about my family."

"Clearly, I've hit a sore spot."

Draco winced. Unfortunately, Snape was right about one thing - he had hit a sore spot. Ever since Lucius had been sentenced to life imprisonment at Azkaban, Draco's life had pretty much gone to shit. His mother had been inconsolable all summer long, although Draco had yet to determine if this was because she missed his father or because she was worried about what his imprisonment might mean for their family's standing with Voldemort. Draco suspected that it must have been the latter. And she was right to worry. Voldemort's bad side was not a good place to be, especially if you enjoyed being among the living. Besides, who could miss a man like Lucius Malfoy?

Sure, Lucius's fuck-up in the Department of Mysteries meant that they were at a higher risk with the Death Eaters and with Voldemort. But it also meant an entire summer of blissful silence without his father barging around like a raving lunatic.

Come to think of it, maybe a world without Lucius Malfoy would be a better one after all. But he wasn't about to sit there and listen to some half-blood tell him that.

"Listen to me carefully," Draco snarled at the older man. His voice was raised loud enough that anyone in the corridor would be able to clearly hear him, but he didn't care. "The only reason that you mean an ounce of salt to the Dark Lord is because you are his connection to Dumbledore. Have you ever considered what might happen when Dumbledore is actually dead? Because I have. Once that man is six-feet under, you won't mean a damn thing. Me, on the other hand. Heh. My father's allegiance to the Dark Lord is irrevocable. He's rotting away in Azkaban for that son of a bitch. One day, my father will escape from Azkaban. I swear on my life, when he does, he'll be back in the Dark Lord's good graces. Just you wait."

With a sharp exhale, Snape shook his head. "I've heard enough of this. You are dismissed. Get out of my office."

Draco pushed back his chair, letting it screech noisily against the floor. He brought himself to his feet and bowed slowly, locking eyes with his professor. "My Lord," he growled, sarcastically. With that, he whipped around and stormed out of the room, making sure to slam the door behind him.

_Prick. _

The air felt thick as Draco strode angrily up the staircase from the dungeons to the ground floor of the castle. He cursed Snape's name the entire way along. That man would be the death of him, one way or another. The pure agony of even having to see him once was unbearable. But Draco reckoned that this wouldn't be the last time that he would find himself in the dingy little office for another check-up.

He wasn't sure where he was going when he got to the top of the staircase. All that he knew was that he needed to get out of the castle and away from the castle. Fast.

The corridors were crowded with students of all ages wasting time between their final classes of the day and the start of supper in the Great Hall that evening. They chatted amongst themselves about mundane things like which professors were the best and which were the worst, or what they planned to do on their first trip to Hogsmeade. Draco resented them for their boundless excitement. They were so fresh and untainted. It disgusted him. But more than that, it frightened him. He couldn't remember the last time that he had been allowed to feel like a child. It seemed like his whole life he had been relegated to playing the part of a pawn in his father's game.

Now, he was in a game of his very own.

As Draco marched along the corridor, a group of first-year students looked on with wide eyes and mouths in the shape of an O.

"That's him," one of them whispered. "That's Lucius Malfoy's son."

"Wasn't he incarcerated this summer? I heard he's in Azkaban."

"No doubt that Draco's next."

"I can't believe they allowed _him _to return to this school. And we're expected to just co-exist with the son of a known _Death Eater_? It's barbaric."

Draco's stomach dropped. Though he wished it didn't, the comments of his classmates tore at him. He knew what his father was capable of, what he had done to others, even the family members of some of those very students. Had his father killed their aunts or uncles? Or maybe even their parents? He shivered involuntarily at the sheer thought of it. Now the arsehole was in prison and Draco was out here, in the real world, dealing with the consequences of his father's actions. _Fucking Lucius. _

Quickening his pace, he found his way to an exit and finally, he made it outside to the courtyard. He took in a gulp of fresh air and felt it immediately rush into his lungs and calm his sizzling nerves. Autumn had come too soon to Hogwarts, just as it had every year before. There were already thick piles of crunchy colourful leaves scattered across the grounds, blowing off nearly barren trees. A cool breeze came by and Draco instinctively tucked his chin into the collar of his school jumper. Winter wasn't far now. It was only October but it felt as though the year was flying by. Far too quickly. Draco set off towards the Quidditch pitch with a huff, aching for some peace and quiet. But a small voice stopped him in his tracks.

"They won't let you go past here, you know."

The voice belonged to Hermione Granger. She was sitting on a bench at the far edge of the courtyard, clad in a puffy jacket that Draco had never seen before - but, judging by its ugliness, Draco assumed it was a Muggle fashion. At least half a dozen books were piled up by her side and another was cracked open on her lap. She peered at him quizzically through her thick eyelashes, not with judgement but with curiosity. For a moment, Draco was relieved. Seeing her there without an ounce of disdain was a breath of fresh air compared to his previous interaction of the day.

But then he snapped back to reality. Anger gurgled within him and he narrowed his eyes at her. "What was that, Granger?"

The soft look in her eyes disappeared and she sighed aloud. "You can't go any further than this. It's getting dark out." Hermione pointed up at the sky with her index finger. "Haven't you noticed that the school has upped its security this year?"

Evidently, Draco had not. "Why in Merlin's name would they do that?"

Hermione gave him a pointed look. "I think that's quite obvious. Don't you?"

_Oh. _Another gift courtesy of Lucius Malfoy. Draco glanced longingly over his shoulder at the empty fields that surrounded the castle. There was no inch of privacy left in this goddamn place. He groaned to himself, throwing his head back so he could stare up at the grey, lifeless sky. When he finally allowed his head to drop back down, he glowered at Hermione. "Well, what am I meant to do then? I need to get away from this school. Now."

A startled look flashed upon Hermione's face when she realized that he wasn't speaking rhetorically. Even Draco was surprised at his own bluntness. Why was he telling her any of this? Why he was he even speaking to her? Neither of them had the answers.

Hermione ducked her head back into her book and shrugged her shoulders. "Sorry. Can't help you there."

"Fuck!" Draco kicked at the ground beneath his feet, sending chunks of nearly frozen grass and dirt flying into the air. The breeze was becoming bitterly cold as the sun no longer brought any warmth to Draco's skin. As he looked around the castle grounds, he couldn't help but steal a glance at Hermione out of the corner of his eye. Her dark hair, curly as ever, hung thick around her face like a shield from the wind. Still, her cheeks were so red that they might very well have been windburnt. Draco wondered how she could sit out here, obviously freezing, without so much as flinching at the icy wind. "Why the fuck are you out here then?"

"I'm reading. Can you not tell?"

"Why don't you read in the library like a normal person?"

"Well, because," Granger huffed with obvious exasperation. "I just want to be alone right now. Take a hint."

_Well, there's certainly more to that story, _Draco thought. But frankly, he didn't care enough to press her for the truth. Maybe a year ago he would enjoy teasing Hermione mercilessly. But he just couldn't be bothered anymore. "Well, thank you so much for all of your assistance, Granger."

"My pleasure, Malfoy." Hermione didn't even look up from her book. Not once.

Draco made his way back into the castle, feeling more agitated than he had when he left. _Dirty fucking Mudblood. _Why was everyone at this school so dense? At this rate, he didn't have the slightest inkling of how he was meant to make it through another agonizing year at Hogwarts. If it were up to him, he would have left school this year instead of next. Fortunately, he would be able to drop out of Hogwarts after his sixth year. Although it did require making a deal with the devil.

Dejectedly, he reentered the foyer, passing the same astonished and sickened first-years. This time, he seriously did consider hexing them. Before making his way back down to the dungeons, he shot them a look which made them practically quiver in fear.

As he stormed through the corridors of the dungeons, Draco felt a wave of nausea creep upon him. He could manage just one short year, couldn't he? He had been through worse in his life or at least he thought he had. Seeing the happiness on his schoolmates' faces as they returned to Hogwarts each year made him furious with envy. He wished that he could feel the same. Maybe one day, long ago, he had. But he couldn't remember that feeling now. The school was only tainted with bad memories now.

By the time he arrived at the Slytherin dormitory, Draco was slick with sweat and his head was spinning. He croaked out the password and the entrance to the common room slowly appeared. He barged inside and stood just past the entrance, listening carefully for the sound of any other Slytherins hanging around. Aside from the faint sound of the door shutting behind him, it was silent.

It had to be nearly 5 o'clock. The common room was completely empty as the majority of the student body was already gathered in the Great Hall for supper. That, at least, he was grateful for. The last thing he wanted to do was pretend to care for conversation. It was hard enough to do so on a regular day, let alone today. Trudging towards his room, his muscles throbbed and his breath was shallow.

There was no one let in the boys' dormitory either. Draco marched into his room and yanked his jumper over his head, tossing it onto the end of the mattress of his four-poster bed where a pile of clothes had already accumulated. The only sound in the room was the gentle ebb of the Great Lake against the windows.

A soft sob fell from Draco's lips although he tried to suppress it. Then it came more powerfully, as if erupting from somewhere deep inside of him.

His shoulders shook violently and his hands trembled as he tried to undo the buttons of his shirt. When he was finally able to get them undone, he ripped the shirt off and threw it onto the bed as well. Standing shirtless in the middle of his dorm, he raised his left arm before his face and cried out. The black ink on his forearm looked more menacing now than it had before, appearing like a diseased mark under his skin below the greenish lighting of his room. He rubbed furiously at the mark with the palm of his hand as if he could erase it so easily. When the skin turned bright pink and the mark remained, Draco dropped his hand in defeat and howled loudly into the empty room.

_Why did it have to be me?_


	3. The Proposal

Hermione sat on a wide burgundy chair in Professor McGonagall's office, her right leg crossed over the left as she absentmindedly fiddled with the hem of her cardigan. Although Professor McGonagall had summoned Hermione to the office at a quarter to noon, the professor had still not arrived nearly five minutes past their arranged meeting time. With every passing minute of McGonagall's absence, Hermione's anxiety increased.

That morning, Hermione had awoken to a note neatly arranged on her bedside table as if it had materialized out of thin air. On the front, her name was scribbled in impeccable penmanship. Receiving notes from McGonagall typically wasn't any cause for concern, at least not in Hermione's case. It didn't worry her the way that it would worry Ron or Harry who constantly found themselves in trouble. Hermione, on the other hand, was different. Her correspondence with McGonagall had gone back years, occurring on a semi-frequent basis. They checked in with one another every few days, mostly in regards to Hermione's studies or sometimes when McGonagall discovered an interesting book that Hermione might enjoy.

Recently though, every bit of news made Hermione uneasy. In the current unrest of the wizarding world, everyone was constantly wondering what would happen now that Voldemort had officially returned. Hermione could only ever anticipate bad news. These days, she had forgotten what it was to feel completely at ease. It seemed that around every corner was just another setback and more danger.

Nevertheless, she arrived promptly - albeit a bit apprehensively - to the Deputy Headmistress's office, outwardly calm as she awaited the professor's arrival.

McGonagall's office was a quaint, cosy room tucked away in a quiet corner of the castle. It had a window that overlooked the area surrounding the castle, giving the perfect view of the picturesque grounds. A fire, which Hermione believed to be eternally burning, flickered before her and made the room the perfect temperature to combat the frigid air outside. But Hermione was uncomfortably warm. The stress made her cheeks warm. With all the anxiety within her, she couldn't help herself from bouncing her knees in anticipation.

Finally, after what seemed like ages, the thick wooden door flung open and Professor McGonagall, clad in her signature emerald robes, entered the room in a blur. "Ms. Granger," she said, not slowing her pace. "Apologies. Unfortunately, a number of first-year students were involved in a distressing misuse of magic this morning. Very unpleasant."

The older woman flicked her wand and the door swung shut behind her as if thrown by a gust of wind. There was something so admirable about McGonagall's effortless use of magic. Hermione had always viewed the older woman as a role model. Even now, in these dark times, her opinion remained unchanged.

Hermione cleared her throat and clasped her hands together in her lap. She reassured the Deputy Headmistress that it was alright, even though it didn't really matter if she thought otherwise, and then watched McGonagall glide across the room. The older witch flicked her wand again but this time to put on a pot of tea. Once she had everything settled, McGonagall took the seat opposite Hermione.

"I suppose you're wondering why I've called you to my office this afternoon. I have a rather important subject to discuss."

Hermione's stomach was in knots. She quietly tried to steady her breathing as she prepared herself for the moment of truth. "Professor, is everything alright? Have my parents been... Are my parents okay?"

McGonagall's eyebrows furrowed and a deep crease formed in the skin between them. Hermione could have sworn that she saw the older woman's shoulders drop. "Oh, gracious. Yes, of course. It hadn't occurred to me... You children are so much more aware of the state of our world than us adults sometimes realize. It was not my intention to frighten you. No, I asked you here today because, as it happens, I am in need of your assistance."

The teapot began to whistle and then shriek. Hermione sat a little taller, exhaling quietly.

"You see," McGonagall continued. "A certain classmate of yours has been, let's say, struggling with their studies more than usual. In the past, I have not found sufficient reason to be especially concerned with this particular pupil's academic performance. However, I have been alarmed as of late. I fear that perhaps it is not a lack of understanding - no, that would be much easier to resolve. I believe that it is a lack of interest. That's where you come in."

"Me?" Hermione squeaked.

McGonagall nodded thoughtfully as she used her wand to pour the piping hot tea into two porcelain teacups. One of the cups moved through the air towards Hermione who grasped it carefully in mid-air.

"You are, without question, one of my brightest students, Ms. Granger. I doubt that anyone at this school could argue that," McGonagall declared. The statement made Hermione's heart swell with pride. It wasn't often that her professor dished out compliments, so when you did happen to receive one, you were sure to know that she meant it. "However, I have reason to believe that it would be enough for him to simply be in your presence. This particular student has previously shown an interest in you, so to speak. I think that perhaps you are one of the only people at this school that challenges them. Would you be willing to take this on?"

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. Do you want me to tutor someone?"

"Not exactly. It would be more encouraging rather than actual teaching. I realize that you are extremely busy with your own coursework and... other activities are the moment. But it shouldn't be too much extra work. One hour every day. I'm certain that you could manage."

"Oh, I'm not worried about the workload. I'm honoured that you would consider me, Professor. Thank you. So, who is it that I'll be tutoring?"

McGonagall paused for a moment. A frown settled on her already naturally turned down lips. "I'm afraid that student is Mr. Malfoy."

It felt like the world stopped moving around Hermione. "Malfoy?" Her vision blurred and her body froze. "As in _Draco _Malfoy?"

McGonagall raised a hand in the air. "Ms. Granger, before you are tempted to judge, I urge you to remember that he too is a student at this institution and that he deserves an equal opportunity at a full education, regardless of your personal feelings towards him."

"I beg your pardon, Professor. But Draco Malfoy doesn't deserve an equal _anything_," Hermione protested. Even just talking about him made her agitated. That much was obvious by how she was speaking to her professor. She had never so much as disagreed with McGonagall before. Well, at least she had never been stupid enough to do so vocally. But on this, she couldn't stay silent. "He's... Well, truthfully, he's an absolutely horrid person. He isn't doing well in his classes because he just doesn't care. I have classes with him, Professor. He is disrespectful to our professors and to the other students who actually want to learn."

"Respectfully, Ms. Granger, I beg to differ." McGonagall stood from her chair and strolled towards the window. "You are at liberty to decline my request if you so desire. I'm not here to tell you that you must take on this role. However, I would be greatly disappointed in you if you turned down this opportunity. I really did believe that you are interested in the greater good."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was hearing. Professor McGonagall - who had, over these past six years, witnessed firsthand how Draco Malfoy terrorized the students and professors - was asking her to voluntarily spend time with him. Hermione reckoned that the poor woman must have been under an Imperius Curse. Either that or Ron was actually right: McGonagall had finally lost it.

"Professor, please understand," Hermione begged. "Draco is unteachable. He is rude and... and... uncouth! Believe me, there is _no _way that Draco Malfoy is going to let a Muggleborn tutor him. It's impossible."

"Improbable. But not impossible." McGonagall's eyes were practically twinkling. Now Hermione was really beginning to worry. "Ms. Granger, please. It would mean a great deal to me."

Hermione stared long and hard at the older woman. _Goddamnit. _With a sigh, she finally gave her answer. "Alright. I'll do it. I'll tutor Malfoy."

The words made Hermione's skin itch just by saying them aloud. How was she supposed to tutor Malfoy when she could barely look at him without disgust? The thought of seeing him every day with no way of avoiding him made her exceptionally nervous.

McGonagall, surprisingly, smiled. "Thank you." She took a delicate sip of her tea. "You will tutor Mr. Malfoy in Transfiguration, History of Magic, and Potions. The two of you will meet for one hour every evening, except for on Sundays. Professor Snape and I have agreed to lift the curfew for you two so that you may meet from 9 to 10 o'clock. We thought that perhaps it would be best if this arrangement were kept discreet."

For that, Hermione was grateful. God knew that Harry would have a coronary if he found out that Hermione was spending time with an alleged Death Eater. That would really get him going.

"What should I tell my roommates?" Hermione asked.

McGonagall considered this for a moment. "Tell them that I've asked you to assist me with a special project. That should be sufficient. If they ask any more questions, I will deal with it. But I hardly think that will be necessary."

She was right. In fact, Hermione wasn't all that concerned about her roommates. She wasn't even certain that they would notice her absence, let alone care where she was. She wasn't particularly close with any of them after all. It was her friends that were more problematic.

Once Professor McGonagall had finished relaying all the information, Hermione thanked her for the opportunity and headed towards the door, feeling a bit woozy. As she reached out for the doorknob, a thought gave her pause. Slowly, she turned around. "Professor?"

"Hm?"

"What exactly did you mean when you said that Malfoy had shown an interest in me?"

An odd look grew in McGonagall's eyes, like a secret that was bursting at the seams. "Have a good afternoon, Ms. Granger."

With a slight huff of frustration, Hermione wished her professor a good afternoon and headed out the door, but not before being reminded by McGonagall that the first meeting with Draco would be that evening in the library. _Great, _Hermione thought. She closed the office door behind her and then leaned her back against it, squeezing her eyes shut. A sick feeling grew in her stomach.


	4. The Tutor

"No."

Draco shook his head so violently that he wondered if it were humanly possible for it to fall off his shoulders. He imagined his head falling from his shoulders and rolling across the centuries-old rug that adorned the room. Maybe that was something to strive for, actually. Finally, when his head settled back into place, he planted his feet firmly into the ground and crossed his arms over his chest, as if somehow this was going to make his unwavering rejection more evident.

Never had he been more horrified in his life and that included a lifetime dotted with a number of gruesome incidents, particularly from the past six months and most of them involving at least a couple crazed Death Eaters. He had never imagined that his worst moment would happen here in the office of Minerva McGonagall, with Severus fucking Snape bearing witness. He felt as though he might actually be sick all over that stupid ancient rug.

"No," he repeated, a bit more aggressively. "I won't do it and you cannot make me."

"Oh, I assure you that we can, Mr. Malfoy," McGonagall corrected. She stepped towards Snape who was hovering by the fireplace. Her right eyebrow arched high as she gave her colleague a knowing glance and then she turned to purse her thin lips at Draco. "And we will. I'm saddened to say that your academic performance has been shockingly unsatisfactory so far this term. Your attendance record has been non-existent. You have not handed in even one of the essays assigned to you. Above all of your crimes, however, is your harassment of teachers as well as your fellow students. I'm afraid that we cannot allow you to remain a student at Hogwarts unless your grades - and attitude - improve immediately."

_What a shame that would be, _Draco thought.

"Your grades, Mr. Malfoy, are abysmal." This time, the lecturing came from Snape. He loomed behind McGonagall just as a child would cower behind their mother. With his arms crossed over his robes, Snape reminded Draco of a teacher's pet tattling on a classmate. If his mind weren't on more pressing matters, Draco would have taken a moment to enjoy the sight before him. But none of this was any laughing matter.

The tension between Draco and his professor was palpable. Frankly, Draco didn't give a damn. He felt the way that Snape was glaring at him with his pitch-black eyes, silently advising Draco to be subservient. To do as the old bat said, in other words. But Draco wasn't about to budge. Sure, he could be pushed around by his father, by Snape, or by Lord Voldemort. But he wasn't just going to allow McGonagall to boss him around. Let Snape be mad at him all he wanted. If the bastard wanted to be bothered, then so be it.

"So what?" Draco said finally. "Suppose I get my grades back up to par on my own. In my opinion, I find it highly unnecessary that I have some snot-nosed little first-year teach me Potions or whatever it is that you two have been concocting. How about you just take my word for it that I will make an effort to improve?"

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid it is no longer up to you. We have given you ample opportunity to mend things on your own and yet you have chosen not to do so time and time again."

Draco's patience was wearing thin. Maybe it was the suffocating anxiety Draco had already been feeling, or the unbearable heat in McGonagall's tiny office, or the way that Snape's beady eyes were antagonizing Draco more and more with each passing moment. Maybe it was a combination of all three. He could feel the anger boiling inside of him, slowly waiting for its moment to spew itself onto his professors.

Trying to remain as calm as possible, Draco turned to narrow his eyes at the Deputy Headmistress. "I'm sorry, but why are you even here? I believe this is something that I should be discussing with the Head of Slytherin house, or perhaps even the Headmaster, don't you agree? I just can't see how lecturing Slytherin students about their grades falls under the job description of the Head of Gryffindor house."

"You will watch your tongue and show respect to Professor McGonagall," Snape snarled.

"As a matter of fact, this matter concerns both myself and Professor Snape."

Now Draco was intrigued. "Enlighten me."

"The student whom we have arranged to tutor you is from the Gyffindor house. Thankfully, after significant persuasion on my part, they have agreed to help."

"Not a damn Gryffindor. Which poor sod have you decided to unleash me upon?"

"Ms. Hermione Granger."

McGonagall's words hung in the air as Draco struggled to absorb him. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, as if he could erase the words with force. _Hermione fucking Granger._

"You're having a laugh." Draco glanced back and forth between the professors, expecting one of them to crack a smile and reveal it all to be a prank. "What kind of a sick fucking joke is this?"

"Mr. Malfoy, I have tolerated your poor conduct to this point and I have been quite lenient with allowing your profanities. But I will now remind you that you are speaking to two of your professors, one of whom is your Head of House. I should warn you to exercise caution and watch your language."

Draco could not wrap his head around anything they were saying. He was fairly certain that McGonagall had had it out for him since the moment she saw him walk into the Entrance Hall in his first year. The Malfoy name did carry a reputation that no one could look past, for better and for worse, and of course, these things did come with their prejudices. Of course, McGonagall hated him for his name. Frankly, who didn't these days? This must have been some sort of backhanded way at getting back at him for being a Malfoy. He had to hand it to her - she had really hit the nail on the head with this one.

"This is absolutely ridiculous. I'm -" Draco started to say. Then he stopped. He had almost said that his father would hear about this. But his father wouldn't, would he? And even if he could get in contact with his father, what exactly would that achieve? McGonagall would laugh in his face.

Draco pictured Hermione Granger in his mind, her chin perpetually tilted to the sky as she strutted through the corridors of the school as if she owned it. How the students at Hogwarts thought she was so remarkable, despite her dull appearance and unexceptional character. This plain girl was meant to tame someone like him? The thought was absolutely laughable to Draco.

He looked McGonagall in the eye, calling her bluff. "Not bloody likely. But thank you for the opportunity."

"Mr. Malfoy, if you do not accept these extra lessons, your academic study at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be terminated, effective immediately. Your trunks will be packed within moments and you will be sent home before dusk. Is that what you want?"

Draco almost immediately agreed. Almost. He saw his freedom flash before him like the light at the end of a tunnel, calling out to him and promising a world without Harry Potter or Hermione Granger or Severus fucking Snape. But then he remembered he had a job to do. Kill or be killed. How the fuck was he meant to murder the Headmaster as well as sneak a dozen Death Eaters into the most protected building in Europe if he was expelled from the school?

A knot tied itself in his stomach. He knew what he had to reply, but the words caught in his throat. Finally, he spat them out as if they were poisoned. "No. That is not what I want."

Snape looked instantly relieved. Behind McGonagall's back, he gave Draco a curt, approving nod. _Fucking tosser. _

"Excellent," McGonagall said. Draco could have sworn that she was holding back a smug smile. "Your first lesson will be this evening in the library."

"Tonight?" Panic rose in his throat. He had no time to prepare, let alone plan his escape from the school and from his life in a few short hours. He racked his brain for excuses. "I won't count on it. Granger will never do it. I'd rather not waste my time."

"I've already spoken to Ms. Granger, as you'll remember me saying. She has agreed. 9 o'clock. Don't be late."

McGonagall started towards the door. Draco was desperate. He stepped forward, calling his professor's name.

"I should warn you that I'm not feeling well this morning. I ate a bad egg this morning at breakfast."

McGonagall glanced over her shoulder. "Ah, understandable. I'll let Madam Pomfrey know you'll be visiting this afternoon. She'll have you fixed up in no time, to be sure. Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy."

With that, McGonagall left the room and Draco was wordlessly dismissed. McGonagall had won this round, although what she didn't know was that it was all for naught. The only thing keeping Draco at Hogwarts was the eventual death of Dumbledore. The irony was not lost on him.

Defeated, Draco stalked into the corridor with his hands clenched in fists at his sides. He never was a physically aggressive child. Why bother when he had an endless supply of magic that he could use at any moment to torment his schoolmates with? But right now, he felt as though he could punch right through one of the stone castle walls. The school term had only just begun and already it was by far the worst one yet.

As he stormed down the corridor, he felt as though the walls were closing in around him. He could hardly breathe, but it wasn't from his pace. He cleared his throat repeatedly and reached up to loosen his tie so that it wasn't pulling so tightly against his neck. He felt as though he was choking. After taking in a few deep breaths, he hurried down the staircase to the ground level of the castle.

How long would he have to suffer? How long would he have to endure the consequences of his father's existence? Why had the man brought him into the world only to shackle him to a life where he was destined to fall? Where he was under constant surveillance by a raging psychopath with unreliable violent tendencies? Voldemort would have him killed for a number of reasons but if Draco let slip the plan to murder Dumbledore before the deed was carried out, he was sure to have his head on a spike or something similar within the hour. A powerful man like Albus Dumbledore would be protected. He would effectively disappear from their world and would never be seen again if he found out what was coming for him. He had done so for far less. The only reason they had a fighting chance was that Dumbledore was so ancient that he let his guard down and was now sauntering around a castle playing teacher to a bunch of halfwitted students.

Draco made his way down one of the open corridors that looked out upon the courtyard. The light was nearly gone from the sky but many students were still lingering, trying to soak in whatever bit of fresh air and freedom that they could. With the strict restrictions on the castle, it was hard not to feel claustrophobic this year. In that regard, Draco felt almost akin to his classmates. It might be the only bond they had ever shared in all of these years. But Draco tried not to be too sentimental about it. In a few months, they would all want his head anyway. Why bother feeling connected to them now?

A burst of wind blew through the open windows and Draco shuddered, tugging his sleeves down over his fists. His mother would _Avada Kedavra _him if she knew he was out without his coat on. It was sort of funny how she worried for his health like that, as if he weren't about to put his life at risk.

As Draco passed through the corridor, he glanced out to the yard and his eye caught a mass of dark curls billowing in the wind. His blood ran cold. He stopped in his tracks and stood behind a partial stone wall, weathered from the years. He observed Hermione Granger from afar as if studying a creature. She was sitting on a concrete bench, just as she had been on their last encounter, but this time she was scribbling her quill hastily across a parchment paper.

Her hair had gone completely wild, not that she gave a toss, and she seemed equally unbothered by the commotions around her. In fact, Draco wasn't even sure that she realized anyone was with her at all.

It pissed Draco off. How could someone be so bloody ignorant about the world around them?

Sure, maybe it was possible that he was projecting his own personal crap onto her, and everyone else, for that matter. But personally, he felt it was warranted. If anyone deserved to be targeted in this spew of hatred, it was Granger. Supposedly flawless and indisputably intelligent - yes, even Draco could admit to himself that Granger was smart - he didn't know anyone who didn't openly or secretly worship her. If her biggest problem in the world was being teased for being a know-it-all, then she had nothing to complain about. Every summer, she went back to her bizarre Muggle world with her perfect parents who brushed teeth for a living, and Draco went home to his emotionally abusive father and poor damaged mother. Draco laughed internally at the thought of Granger spending a day in his shoes.

_Fuck her, _Draco thought. He shook his head and continued through the corridor. He couldn't fathom how he was going to spend the night being lectured by that prissy little Gryffindor.

As he entered the castle, his eye caught a figure standing in the shadows of a corridor. Nearing the figure, he saw distinctive jet black hair and striking green eyes gleaming back at him.

"Afternoon Draco," Pansy Parkinson purred. She stepped forward, reaching up to adjust Draco's collar with a frown. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Yeah, well, I've been busy."

"Too busy for Pansy?" Her bottom lip pouted out dramatically. She tapped her index finger against his collarbone. "I missed you this summer."

Clearly, she wasn't all that interested in finding out where Draco had been all afternoon. But he wasn't resentful. In fact, he was grateful for her disinterest. He didn't want to share and she didn't want to listen. Maybe that was why they worked together.

"Yeah?" he responded absentmindedly. He wasn't typically all that interested in what Pansy had to say, but today he felt even more lost in their conversation. His mind was somewhere else, and that it felt fuzzier than it had these past few weeks of school was truly saying something.

"Why don't you meet me after supper tonight? We can… catch up."

Frankly, Pansy Parkinson annoyed the fuck out of Draco. She was quite possibly the least interesting person he had ever met, including Granger. And she had not a single brain cell to call her own.

But he said yes. Not because he wanted to per se, but because she was there and Merlin knew he needed a distraction. That's what Pansy was for him - an adequate distraction.

Leaning onto her tiptoes, Pansy pressed a kiss on Draco's neck, just below his ear. She bounced back down and linked her arm into Draco's, leading him towards the Great Hall. The pair sauntered down the corridor together while Pansy babbled on about her summer and passersby looked on with judgement. All the while, Draco kept an expressionless look on his face as his mind drifted to thoughts of the curly-haired witch that awaited him that evening.


	5. The Lesson

The minutes leading up to 9 o'clock ticked by so agonizingly slow that Hermione was almost certain that her wristwatch had stopped.

After supper, Hermione had sat in the Gryffindor common room with her friends for an hour or so, pretending that things were business as usual. All the while, her stomach churned in anxiety. When the conversation drifted onto the subject of school, she casually mentioned that she would be helping McGonagall out with a special project that would require her attention every night for the foreseeable future. Despite a few teasing remarks from Ron about being a teacher's pet, the announcement didn't pique much concern or even interest in her friends who were primarily focused on discussing their intolerable increase in coursework or the vague hints of doom that recently permeated the air of Hogwarts.

Around 8 o'clock, Ron made up some excuse for leaving the dormitory which probably meant trouble and Hermione had no business adding another thin to her plate. She let him leave without interrogation for possibly the first time in the five years she had known him. With a deep breath, she announced that she would be heading up to get ready for her appointment with McGonagall and she could have sworn that Harry was watching her with a suspicious amount of intrigue as she headed upstairs to the girls' dormitory.

She hated lying to her friends. It wasn't common that any of them kept secrets from one another, even the life-threatening kind of secrets that one typically kept to themself. Since they had met in first-year, her, Harry, and Ron had been a team. She could hardly remember a time without them. Now, here she was, stepping forward on her own for the first time. Perhaps in any other circumstances, she might feel excited about the prospect of going off on her own. But seeing as this newfound independence included Draco Malfoy, she could hardly muster up anything but nausea.

For the last thirty minutes, Hermione had exhausted all the things she could do to keep herself busy and to distract herself from thinking about her anxieties. The very first thing she had done was change out of her robes into a Muggle outfit that she had brought with her from home. The light blue denim jeans and navy jumper reminded her of home and gave her the sort of comfort one required in order to get through an evening alone with Malfoy.

With a final glance at her wristwatch, Hermione sighed quietly to herself. There were only ten minutes left until 9 o'clock and she still had to make her way over to the library. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it properly and that meant arriving promptly. She slid herself off her bed as her roommates changed into their sleepwear and prepared for bed.

"Well, I'm off," Hermione announced. Immediately, she felt like an idiot for doing so. In the process of trying to appear inconspicuous about the whole thing, she feared she was likely doing a lot more harm than good.

Despite their strange glances and the fact that they were probably going to whisper gossip about Hermione when she left the room, there were thankfully no questions. Her roommates simply said their goodnights and wished her luck on her project. Praying that somebody would say something that would make her have to stay back in the dormitory and miss the lesson, Hermione lingered for a moment before finally giving in and making her way back down to the common room.

The cosy Gryffindor common room was completely empty when she descended the staircase; even the straggling students had gone up to bed. Hermione felt the unavoidable urge to plop down on a sofa before the crackling fireplace and forget the entire evening. Just as she was losing herself to her thoughts, the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower slid open. She froze on the spot. Her heart thudded noisily in her ears as she watched a shadowy figure come through the entrance and the strange memory of her recurring dream came to mind.

"Hello? Who's there?" Hermione held her breath, awaiting an answer.

"Hermione?" a voice responded. It wasn't the same voice as from the dream. As the silhouette emerged into the dim lighting, Hermione immediately recognized the familiar shaggy red hair.

"Ron," she exhaled, pressing a palm to her chest. "You frightened me."

"Oh, er... Hi."

"What are you doing out so late? Getting into trouble, I presume?"

Ron stopped mid-motion so dramatically that he looked like a cartoon character that had just run off the side of a cliff. His eyes went wide. "You caught me!" He laughed out loud, a little too loud, and pretended to wipe the sweat off his brow. "I actually just lost track of time. Very boring. No story there."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. All around, he appeared dishevelled. His hair was a mess on top of his head and the tie around his shirt collar was loosened. His cheeks were a bright shade of pink which wouldn't be cause for concern had he not been acting so strange in the first place.

"You look as though you've run a marathon," Hermione remarked. "What exactly were you doing?"

Ron stared at her. For a moment, it seemed as though he had forgotten how to speak. Finally, he spoke, his words coming out in a tumble. "I was studying in the library." His eyes were the size of two Galleon coins.

Immediately, Hermione knew he was lying. She couldn't remember the last time that Ron willingly went to the library - if there was even a last time to speak of. Ron was hiding something and there was no doubt about that. Unfortunately, in this particular moment, Hermione had neither the time nor the headspace to drag it out of him.

"Right. Well, I've got to go." Hermione gave her friend one last weird look as she walked by him and made her way towards the door.

Ron spun around. "Where are _you _going?" His tone was full of accusation as if he hadn't just returned to the Tower past curfew and lied straight to Hermione's face about it.

With trembling hands, Hermione turned on her heel and put on her most irritated face. "I'm meeting with McGonagall, Ronald. _Remember_?" She dragged out the last word into several syllables to get her point across. As she carefully studied his reaction, she held her breath. Recognition flooded his eyes.

"Oh, right. That secret project of yours." He let out a hearty laugh. "You're such a goody-goody, Hermione."

_You have no idea, _Hermione thought.

With that, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways - Ron with his secret and Hermione with hers. As Hermione watched the Gryffindor entrance seal itself behind her, she allowed a heavy sigh to escape her lips. It was exhausting to lie to her friends, even though she suspected they might just be lying back at her. Whatever Ron was keeping from her, she vowed to get to the bottom of it. Now was no time for trouble. They had to focus on the task at hand - that Voldemort had made his official return. But then again, she was endangering herself now, walking through the empty corridors to meet with the most high-risk student at Hogwarts. She could only hope that if any consequences might come from this venture, they should affect her alone.

Hogwarts had an eerie presence at night, she noted as she walked slowly towards the library. Throughout the day, the corridors were never empty but instead perpetually filled with students, professors, and even the odd ghost. Even the paintings kept one company. As an only child, Hermione had spent most of her early years alone. Even more so was she alone when people began to realize that there was something different about her. Once she entered the Great Hall for the very first time, however, that loneliness disappeared. She felt like a part of a community for the first time in her life. With Ron and Harry by her side, she felt unstoppable. The constant sounds of the castle became a comfort to her. The sound of silence in the same hallowed corridors made her uneasy.

Sure, she had snuck out of bed past curfew before. You don't become lifelong friends with Harry Potter without signing yourself up for an unhealthy dosage of rule-breaking and in her experience, that primarily meant sneaking around the castle in the middle of the night. But in all of those cases, she had never been alone. She had her friends by her side.

God only knew what they would think of her if they could see her now.

The library, a typically safe place for the bookish Gryffindor, loomed at the end of the corridor. The flicker of light at the end of Hermione's wand appeared to shiver in anticipation of what lay ahead. In all of Harry's delirium lately, Hermione had been the voice of reason to his well-earned paranoia about what Malfoy had allegedly been cooking up with the Death Eaters. She was the one who reminded him that Malfoy was no worse than the average school bully. He was only sixteen, for crying out loud. What kind of Dark Wizard would enlist a child's assistance in a war? But in spite of her better judgement, she now began to wonder if Harry's suspicions weren't so far-fetched. Perhaps meeting up with a suspected Death Eater in the middle of the night with no one around wasn't Hermione's brightest idea.

Putting her apprehensions behind her, Hermione entered the library, inhaling the scent of the ancient texts and the burnt wax of the candles. Slowly, she passed by the overflowing bookshelves and even those weren't able to put her at ease. As she rounded the corner towards the rows of long rectangular study tables, her blood ran cold. She stopped in her tracks and clutched her textbooks tightly to her chest.

The way Malfoy was sitting at the table reminded Hermione of the way that prisoners on television sat in the visitation room while they waited for their lawyers. His back was stiff against the chair and his hands were clasped together on the tabletop. Hermione wondered what ghastly crimes Malfoy was guilty of. Peculiarly, several inches from where he sat, Malfoy's wand lay on the tabletop.

Hermione inched towards the table, trying to hold onto the last few moments before he noticed her standing there. But as she took a second step forward, Malfoy's head snapped upright and his eyes fell upon her. A wicked grin pulled across his pale face. He spread out his arms on either side of his body.

"Welcome to the show!" His hands dropped down on the table with a thud and the smile disappeared from his lips. "You're late."

She could hear the hatred dripping off his words and she tried to match it in her own tone. "Only by a couple of minutes. Did you miss me?"

"Fucking bitch," Malfoy sneered. His vocabulary certainly expanded over the summer, that much was clear. It appeared that Hermione had a whole new weapon to shield herself from this term.

Malfoy said nothing as Hermione approached the table and carefully set her books down. She wasn't surprised to find that Malfoy hadn't brought any books, parchment, or a quill. Typical. She had to wonder if he had even bought any books for this term. If he had, they had yet to make an appearance. Luckily, Hermione had thought to bring her own books from which to instruct.

As she took a seat across from Malfoy, Hermione pointed at his wand. "What's that doing over there?"

"Snape put it there. But not before charming me to the fucking floor." For emphasis, Malfoy tried to yank his feet off the ground but it was to no avail. His feet were glued to the floor by magic. "Seems the wand is just out of reach."

Hermione snickered. She didn't care for Professor Snape one bit, but she had to give him credit where credit was due. "A Sticking Charm. Very clever."

"Piss off." Clearly, Malfoy wasn't the sort of chap who could take a joke and he was evidently in no mood to try either. That was fine by Hermione. Lord knew she wasn't there to be his friend. She was there to do a specific job and then go back to her normal life once this nightmare was over.

"Alright." Hermione set her books out before her. "Which subject do you find most troubling?"

Malfoy blinked in response. _Very useful,_ she thought. This was going to be even worse than she had anticipated. As she manoeuvred the books around the table, she stole a peek at her wristwatch. It had only been five minutes and yet it had felt like she had been there for an eternity.

With a sigh, Hermione dragged a large leather-bound book towards her. "I suppose we'll start with History of Magic then." She didn't expect a response so when she didn't receive one, she continued on. "Er, I'm not really sure how much you've missed so far this term. I've barely seen you around lately, so I'm just going to assume that you've missed a lot."

"Is that any of your business?" Malfoy interrupted. Hermione glanced up at him through her eyelashes and was surprised to see the anger in his eyes. Malfoy scoffed, running his hands through his hair. "What are you even doing here?"

"Don't be simple, Malfoy." She was tired of playing teacher. She was tired of hiding her disdain and trying to be polite. In fact, she was impressed with herself for making it this far without wanting to smack him with her thickest textbook. "I'm tutoring you. You know, teaching you things that you couldn't be bothered to learn the first time around."

"No. I mean, what are _you _doing here?"

The question startled her. It was basic enough, really. She should have been able to answer. What was she doing there? Well, McGonagall had asked her to tutor Malfoy and she said yes. Why though? Was it because of her unwavering loyalty to McGonagall? Was it because of her insatiable need for reassurance and praise? Or was it something deeper, something more terrifying, that had made her accept McGonagall's proposition? All Hermione knew was that it was something she wasn't ready to come to terms with. The question was staring her right in the face. But if she had yet to address it on her own, she sure as hell wasn't going to do it for Malfoy's sake.

"Professor McGonagall asked me to tutor you. I didn't want to, but she was desperate. So I did her a favour. End of story. Now, let's talk about history, shall we?"

"History. An interesting subject, isn't it?" Malfoy pondered aloud. Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples with her index fingers. Malfoy leaned back in his chair and smirked. "You and I've got a whole lot of history. Haven't we, Granger? Remember that first time I ever called you a Mudblood? 'Cause that's what you are. A filthy, goddamn _Mudblood_."

He was baiting her. Evidently, he expected to taunt her into submission. It was his goal to make her run out of the library in tears, never to return, so that he could pretend to be disappointed when McGonagall told him that Hermione had quit and the tutoring sessions had been cancelled indefinitely. But what he had failed to realize was that Hermione had endured five long years of verbal harassment. She wasn't about to let one silly comment break her.

"Actually, I think my favourite memory was that one time I punched you in the nose," she remarked.

Malfoy's face went beet red. The look in his eyes was equal parts taken aback and infuriated. Hermione wanted to remember that look for as long as she breathed. But she knew that he wouldn't give in so easily.

"Was it _so _liberating to realize that no matter how smart you are, your intelligence will never make up for your tainted blood?"

The words must have felt like fire coming from Malfoy's throat judging by the way that they scorched Hermione's skin. He knew how to get to her every single time. Somehow, despite their limited interaction over the years, Malfoy had uncovered each of her weaknesses and slowly was prodding at them until she broke. She watched herself fall before him in mercy time and time again. This time was different. It _had _to be different.

"Listen, Malfoy," she began, her voice an unwavering rumble. She leaned forward and tried to put on as menacing of a face as she could muster. "I'm not going to bend to your will or cower in your presence as everyone else does. You've met your match. I'm here to do a job and I intend to follow through on it. If you don't feel like cooperating, that's fine by me. I'll be sitting here every night, waiting patiently for you until you're ready to learn. Until then, we can sit in silence if that's what you'd prefer. I'm not afraid of you and I never will be. Got it?"

Malfoy and Hermione kept their eyes locked on each other in a death stare, both waiting for the other to falter. Finally, Malfoy looked away. But before Hermione could bask in her victory, she realized that he was eyeing his wand. A knot grew in her stomach as she silently reassured herself that he wasn't able to reach it. A terrifying yet fleeting thought crept into her mind: _Does Draco Malfoy really want to _kill_ me? _

Hermione looked away, trying to keep her face as emotionless as possible. She set aside her school books and retrieved from the stack one of her favourite Muggle books, _Pride and Prejudice. _She leaned back in her chair and cracked the book open to the page she had left it on. As much as she wanted to immerse herself fully in Jane Austen's world, she could feel Draco staring at her. His eyes were like daggers piercing through the cover of her book. She tried to ignore it as best as she could, shifting uncomfortably under his gaze. After ten minutes of being watched, she realized that she had read the same page five times over.

"You're not seriously just going to sit there and pretend I'm not here, are you?" Malfoy finally asked after thirty minutes of silence.

Hermione glanced up from the page she was reading, blinking as if she had forgotten he was even there. She shrugged. "Sorry. I was just so _enthralled. _Is someone getting a little bored?"

"You're an idiot, you know," Malfoy informed Hermione. "You've basically signed yourself up for a suicide mission. This isn't going to go your way. I plan on making sure that this isn't easy for you in the slightest."

"Can't wait." Hermione glanced down at her watch. "Ah, it looks like we're nearly at 10 o'clock. I'll wrap up a few minutes early tonight as long as that's alright with you? We've got plenty of time to make up for it, seeing as we'll be spending every single night together."

"Yeah, whatever. I'm so looking forward to it."

Without bothering to entertain his pity party, Hermione gathered her belongings and stood from the table in defiance. As she held out her wand in Malfoy's direction, she revelled in the look of terror that flashed in his eyes in the split second before he realized that she was undoing the charm on him. The moment the charm was lifted, Malfoy jumped out of his seat and snatched up his wand protectively. Hermione's heart thudded in her ears as she pretended to carry on collecting her things, while also keeping a watchful eye on him in case he got any ideas about his newfound freedom. Luckily, he seemed momentarily disinterested in inflicting any harm on Hermione.

Hermione tucked her books under her arm and slipped her wand into her pocket. As she made her way out of the library, she turned back to look at Draco. "You know, I actually feel sorry for you."

"_You _feel sorry for _me_?" Draco chortled. "I've got a Gringotts bank full to the brim and I come from one of the most respected wizarding families in Great Britain. But a Mudblood feels sorry for me. How hilarious."

"You might have money, fame, and metaphorically 'pure' blood," Hermione pointed out, making air-quotations with her fingers. "But what a sad, horrible life you must lead if your only joy comes from mocking other people until they feel just as low and miserable as you are. You're at one of the best schools for magic in the world and you waste every opportunity handed to you. I pity you."

Hermione prepared herself for the blow to come. But it didn't. Malfoy stayed silent. The shocked look on his face was as much of a response as Hermione was going to get. Before he could say anything - or whip out his hand - Hermione turned on her heel and paraded out of the library.

As she walked through the corridor towards the Gryffindor Tower, a smile spread across Hermione's face. She may not have won the war yet, but she sure as hell had won this battle.


	6. The Encounter

Draco shoved the handle of his fork down into the wooden table, glaring across the Great Hall at the Gryffindor table. His stomach was in furious knots and his teeth were clenched so hard that he could imagine them shattering under the pressure. If it were humanly possible to shoot spells out of his eyes, Draco was certain that Hermione Granger would be dead by now.

It had been two weeks since Draco's first grisly with Granger and he was beginning to lose hope that she would ever back out of the arrangement. Each evening, he waited for her in the library, smugly eyeing the clock as he silently assured himself that Granger wouldn't show up. And every night, she did. Their lessons hadn't progressed much past a few searing comments on his part and a symphony of agitated sighs on Granger's. Try as he might, it was becoming evident that no insult would take Granger down - which was, unfortunately, bad news for Draco.

"For Merlin's sake. Would you cut it out?" Blaise Zabini barked, drawing Draco out of his murderous daze. He glanced across the table to find Blaise glaring at him. "Are you trying to dig your way through the table?"

Without breaking eye contact, Draco jammed the handle even harder into the tabletop. So hard, in fact, that it left a dent in the wood. Blaise rolled his eyes.

"Zabini." This was the first time Draco had spoken since sitting down for supper. "Do we have a problem?"

"Actually, we do," Blaise responded. Draco raised his eyebrows. Though he hated to admit it, the boy had some balls. Blaise slammed his own utensils down onto the table. "Lately, you've been such a prick. More than usual. I have no idea what has gotten into you. All you do is snap at people and stare down the Gryffindor table - also more than usual, I might add."

Draco's chest tightened, a mix of anger and anxiety. Was Blaise onto him? Eager not to show any signs of weakness, Draco squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes at Blaise. "Thank you _so _much, Zabini, for airing your grievances. Now, what exactly do you plan to do to eradicate this _unpleasantness_?"

Blaise fixed his gaze upon Draco, trying to stand his ground. But Draco's stare was far more intimidating - and he knew it. But there was more behind his powerful stare than fury. Although things had been unsteady in Draco's familial life as of late, it was still common knowledge that the Malfoys reigned within the wizarding community. They still had connections. His aunt was Bellatrix Lestrange, right-hand woman to the Dark Lord, for crying out loud.

Blaise, it appeared, was well aware of this. With a defeated sigh, he lowered his eyes. "Nothing."

"That's what I thought."

However, it wasn't enough for Draco. He was looking for a fight. The events of the past two weeks had left him enraged and he desperately needed an outlet. But Blaise was simply not taking his bait. Draco's blood boiled. He dropped his fork down on the table, letting it clatter noisily against his plate which was still covered in a variety of uneaten foods. He balled his fists up under the table. Why couldn't Granger falter, just once? Perhaps if she lost control for just a moment, this insatiable resentment within Draco would be subdued. It was unlikely, but he was willing to try. An immeasurable anger had built up within him and he was more than ready to release it.

Meanwhile at the Gryffindor table, Granger appeared to be faring much better than Draco was. In spite of everything, she still sat upon her throne, surrounded by her subjects, her admirers. Her face illuminated and her jovial laugh echoing through the Great Hall, Granger animatedly interacted with her housemates as if she had not a care in the world. As if she didn't spend each night making Draco's life a living hell. The thought of her living unfazed despite their shared secret made Draco even more infuriated.

Why should he have to live with this burden, when all it did was make him miserable? Perhaps if he were to announce the truth of their clandestine meetings, he would be free of them. But then again, he would likely be expelled - and then what? How could he carry out the Dark Lord's master plan? Not to mention, it would be a lot harder to interact with Granger if they didn't have a reason to see one another every day. How could he bother her if he never saw her again?

But then, why did he care so much about bothering her, or seeing her, at all?

"Fucking unbelievable," Draco muttered aloud.

"What is, Draco darling?" Pansy asked, her voice annoyingly sugar sweet. She gently rested a hand upon Draco's arm and peered up at him with overly concerned eyes - a show she was putting on, to be sure. Much like her gaze, everything about Pansy's personality was an act. Draco knew she wanted to be around him because she hoped she could reel him in, thus making a very strategic connection through their families. None of it interested Draco. The last thing he planned on doing was making Pansy Parkinson his wife. Lucky for him, it would probably never come to that - at this rate, he would be dead before his 18th birthday.

Draco averted his eyes from the Gryffindor table before Pansy could follow his gaze and make the connection. He most definitely didn't need to implicate himself any further. Still, Pansy was searching for an answer for his outburst. He thought quickly.

"It's just this fucking school. It's unbelievable to me how everyone eats up all this rubbish every year about school spirit and community. To me, it is significantly..._underwhelming._"

"Of course." Pansy nodded in agreement although Draco was certain she had no clue what he was talking about.

With an echoing screech, Draco's owl soared through a window of the Great Hall, flying magnificently throughout the Great Hall and landing before Draco. Clenched between the bird's teeth was a beige envelope with an all too familiar seal. Given that his father was currently imprisoned at Azkaban, the Malfoy seal could only mean a letter from his mother. Draco snatched the letter from the owl's jaw before it drew back and flew away. He slipped the letter into the pocket of his robes and acted as though the whole scene hadn't happened.

Blaise eyed him suspiciously. "What've you got there, Malfoy? A love letter?" The question caused Pansy to whip her head to face Draco. Her eyes narrowed into slits as she awaited his response.

Draco yawned. "Blaise, does it not exhaust you to concern yourself with my every waking move? My life can't be so remarkable that it should require your undivided attention."

Blaise clucked his tongue in annoyance and returned his attention to his supper. Draco made a mental note to keep his eye on Blaise. Blaise had far too great on an interest in Draco's life for his liking. The last thing he needed was Blaise Zabini ruining all of his carefully orchestrated plans. Or else all of this torture would be for naught.

Pansy, on the other hand, wasn't able to pry her envious curiosity away from Draco. "You're being very secretive.'

"And?" Draco challenged.

Pansy's eyes widened, taken aback. "I'm only saying... You're acting very strange."

Draco exhaled loudly, running a hand through his hair. His muscles tensed. "Fuck's sake. What has gotten into the two of you? I'm not quite sure what gave either of you the impression that my private life is any of your business, but I advise you to move on from that perception immediately."

Pansy's jaw slackened, but she quickly recovered and snapped it shut. With a humph, she raised her nose and crossed her arms across her chest. Pansy loved to show off how peeved she was. But Draco didn't care for her indignation. Not now, not ever.

Finally, unable to spend another insufferable moment with his so-called friends, Draco stood from the table, banging his hands loudly upon the table as he did, and stomped out of the Great Hall. He was almost certain that he was going to bunk off from his lesson with Granger that night. As he left the Hall, he could have sworn that he saw Granger watch him leave.

Draco turned right outside of the Great Hall and made his way through the corridors, only stopping once he was sure that he was alone. He leaned against the wall, finally pulling the envelope out of his pocket with shaky hands. With a swift motion, he ripped it open and pulled out the folded parchment.

_My dear son,_

_How are you? I hope you are well. I don't have to wonder if you have been successful in your classes this term, for I know you will excel, as you do with most everything you attempt._

_Unfortunately, this letter is not just for the purpose of praising my only son. I am writing to inquire about the status of the special assignment that you have bene tasked with. The situation at-home is becoming tense. There is a lot of pressure on this particular mission. I hate to put stress on you, but I urge you to remember the precariousness of our position and the urgency of this assignment._

_I wish I had given you a better life, my darling boy._

_Sincerely,_

_Mother_

Draco folded the letter back up and dropped his head, allowing a long, trembling exhale to escape his lips. He took note of the fact that she had not used either of their names, of course to protect them both if the letter was ever discovered. Draco knew better. He mentally reminded himself to burn the letter as soon as he returned to the Slytherin common room. It was what he was taught to do, as the son of Lucius Malfoy. He wasn't a student of Hogwarts, after all; he was an employee of Lord Voldemort's, stationed here for a specific reason. He knew how to play the game. He could not get caught - that was the most important rule.

Still, the letter haunted him. He couldn't ignore the language his mother had used - the fear behind her words. In particular, her send-off sent a chill down his spine. _I wish I had given you a better life. _He cursed his father for bringing his mother - and himself, for that matter - into this whole mess. Lucius had had a job to do, one he had signed himself up for. He fucked it up, like he did with everyone else he touched. Now, the world burned for his mistakes.

Draco wondered if his father had ever had to do anything like murder his own Headmaster. Draco suspected he hadn't.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the hallways, then suddenly stopped. Draco turned his head in the direction of the sound. Granger stood at the end of the corridor, looking as though she had seen a ghost. It seemed right seeing as Draco was probably close to his death anyway. She stared at him, and he stared back at her. His first instinct was to yell at her, to tell her to fuck off, to berate her for stalking him. But the angry voice in his head quieted to a murmur until it finally disappeared. So he just stared. And Granger stared back. Neither of them said a word.

"Hermione!" a voice shouted out. It disrupted Draco's trance. From what he could tell, it disrupted Granger's too.

"Hermione! There you are." A figure came around the corner and Draco immediately recognized who the owner of the voice was - the youngest male Weasley. Suddenly, reality hit Draco. He shook his head, as though that would bring him to his senses. Standing up straight, he dusted off his clothes and moved towards the end of the corridor.

His feet moved as fast as they could, inexplicably so. What did it matter if Weasley saw him? It wasn't like there was anything incriminating about what had just happened. Him and Granger were in the same corridor. They were bound to cross paths. Although, for some reason, Draco felt that this meeting wasn't any accident.

As he made his way to the Slytherin dormitory, with the metaphoric weight of his mother's letter in his pocket, the sword of Damocles over his head, and the pounding in his chest from the encounter in the corridor, he resolved that he would, in fact, go to his lesson that night after all. If only to find out what it was that Weasley had so desperately wanted to say to Granger.


End file.
